New Wave Requiem

So, the Ordo Dracul was behind all sorts of monstrosities that befell the city. They kept a drauger chained up, and “observed” him in this bestial state for 30 years before idly tossing him into Dorian’s domain. They have been dealt with…and Raphael Pope was sacrificed on the alter of expediency. 2 threats removed. Not a bad way to cap the events.

Kat is now a hound…and an Acolyte of the Crone. I cannot say it surprises me; the “freedom” espoused by the Pagans would appeal to her sensibilities. Vitale is now the sole Vassal for Hell’s Kitchen, free to make whatever horrid arrangements or dealings he feels necessary. I fear for the safety of that domain.

Myself, on the other hand, have inherited Vassalage of Chelsea. I have fulfilled my obligations to former Coterie members: Jimmy has been…altered…and send to California. Evalysse and Vincent Cole Jr I have embraced. The former tenants of Chelsea have left, and I wanted to ensure my dominion of the area was not challenged…and could be molded to fit my ideal.

As I sit in the Limelight, watching the herd mingle and indulge in absent minded pleasures, I frequently wonder what is in store for the future. Will the Carthians rise up against the Invictus? Will the Sangiovanni attempt to betray the Lance? Will Salvaro be replaced as Regent? All these things clutter my mind, but as the pretty young woman that catches my eye mingles throughout the club, the potential for sweet, sweet Vitae tempts me more. Sometimes the best course of action is to focus on the future 10 minutes from now, instead of 10 years from now. For now…unlife is good.

I thought I left the hell of a battlefield behind me in my mortal days. I was far, far wrong. The mindless beast of a Carthian tipped his hand and showed himself tonight, and the damage wrought was…great and terrible.

We assaulted his base of operations, and it minded me of hell. Endless waves of annoying birds, resolve shattering dread, and deathly surprises at every corner…including the weaker willed and weaker blooded members of my coterie temporarily turning on each other and Kat almost ashing Rai!

That was not the worst of it though. Apparently, a robed figure that I can only assume to be Juan’s demented sire captured and attempted to kill Vitale…and damn near succeeded. Juan showed his monstrous allegiance, and attacked Kat, who was swiping at the mysterious vampire. After causing their retreat, I ran across the way to the other fight…where Rabies and his coterie, along with the Sheriff and a few deputies were engaging the naked larvae leader. I arrived just in time to see Rai get ashed by the feral beast. I promptly put a bullet into him, dropping him torpid, but the damage was done.

From this debacle, Rai has died, Steve was killed, Juan turned traitor, the Hounds are dead, and both Salvaro and Dorian politically weakened. This is not what I call a good day. And now, the fallout happens…and I have some debts to the dead and departed to repay.

Katherine Wick

Maybe there is a curse on Hell’s Kitchen, or at least that’s what the rumor is. With all the chaos I wouldn’t be surprised for our streets to have been jinxed by some awful hydra headed witch intent of damning us even further. The whispering around the Elysiums is that the power hole left in our hood will be hard to fill. With Steve, Rai, and Juan dead or missing, that brings the count up to 9 vassals in a matter of months. That can’t sit well with the brass. Not to mention that two of those disappearances are a direct result of a one very psychotic Nosferatu and his sire bent on killing the “wicked” around NYC.

The fact that the Doctor isn’t ash is only due to the fact that me and the old man were there to save his ass when the shit hit the fan…So, here’s the rub. The larvae and master slaughter the two hounds and their entourage of neonates sent in to investigate, I see this and bolt for the closest Elysium, contact the Sheriff and the blood hunt is on. We move in groups fighting our way into the youth center, and as we get to the worm master all hell breaks loose. The deranged “Draugr” pulls some trick that causes us to turn on each other, with claws and knives out we take a few good sized pieces out of each other until we snap out of it. Then the scream…we turn and the doctor is in the maw of this thing, huge, and black chewing on his neck like a chicken wing. If that wasn’t bad enough, Juan turns and tries to scare me away as I move in to slice this thing to bits , and again he’s vanished along with the boogie man after using the Doctor as a chew toy. I grab him and bolt to safety leaving the old man and Rai to fight the Draugr with the sheriff. I didn’t see what happened after, but the old man only brought what was left of Rai, some knives and clothes. Looks like the baddy got a few more licks in before going down.

And if that wasn’t enough, Juan comes back to finish the doctor. Like a fucking snake he sneaks in through the back door to kill him while his wounds are being tended. If it wasn’t for someone spotting him he would have done it too. We can’t find him now, long gone I’m sure, but if we do his requiem is forfeit along with his boogieman sires. So here’s to religious fervor, one large clawed middle finger.

So here we are, beaten to hell, torpid, or worse. The Kitchen is going to be a lonely place for a while, I hope the old man likes to play cards. Oh, and merry fucking Christmas.

With Christmas approaching, I’m once again reminded of the pain and misery I’ve spread. Ever since my wife left me and took the kids to her hometown in Mississippi sixteen years ago, what once was a celebration of the joy of giving on the anniversary of God’s greatest gift to mankind, has become a time of reflection on some of the unspeakable gifts I’ve given. Christmas 1967 was the hardest. I mailed gifts to my wife and kids, and I called her. We only talked for a few minutes, coldly exchanging holiday well-wishes and long awkward pauses. Finally, I asked to talk to the kids. There was a long pause. Then she politely said goodbye and hung up the phone. I was destroyed, but it felt good in a strange way. It was something I needed to feel for what I’d done. When your life feels like a nightmare, much as you want to wake up and find yourself sleeping next to your wife, in a world where you hadn’t been molesting children for 25 years, it also feels nice to know that you’re not asleep, and it all really happened.

Christmas didn’t bring me much joy until after my Embrace. As a doctor and Catholic, I always wondered how much our emotions were just tricks of neurochemistry, and how much of it was spiritual. Since the soul lacks a physical representation, there is effectively no way for a human to even begin to unravel that mystery. That is, until one finds himself without a soul. As it turns out, the soul has a profound role in emotion. The pain I now feel on Christmas is a pale shade of what I once felt. The love I feel for my wife and children is considerably diminished, and the lusts I once felt have all but vanished. For most Damned, I expect this would be problematic. But for me, this has relieved me of most of the guilt and pain that once defined me, freeing me to pursue new interests.

I’ve done some Christmas shopping this year for my fellow Vassals. I also considered getting Steve a gift, but it turns out to have been for the best that I didn’t, as he was just destroyed. I can’t say that I’m “excited” per se to see the looks on the other Vassals’ faces when they open their gifts, but I’m interested. I enjoy the grim humor in soulless monsters going through the motions of exchanging Christmas gifts. I’m similarly interested to find out what happened to Steve. Which reminds me: I haven’t seen Cookie around in a while. I wonder whatever happened to her.

Katherine Wick

Losing my cool is easy, its no surprise to me, I’ve always had a temper. What always gets me is this thing inside of me that goes from puppet to puppeteer in the blink of an eye. One moment its the lion, the next its the gazelle. My little run in with the vampire worms makes me realize that I have to keep my head instead of letting the beast bubble up to the surface each time I get pissed. It almost cost me my life last time.

The worms need to die along with their master. He sent them in to sniff around the neighborhood, likely looking for me after I found him at the abandoned YMCA. If this asshole wants a fight he’s going to get one. And next time he and his pets are going to be more than surprised.

The other don’t know about my new gift, and I’m going to keep it that way as long as possible. Something in me has changed after the indoctrination ceremony into the arms of the Crone. The Priestess tells me that my liturgy alone is sign of my growth, I have taken what I fear most and let it consume so I can be reborn. It’s no surprise its changed me in more ways than one, I can now transform by body into my fears like many other beasts can do, though I’ve only seen one other monster transform into many. I think that the flock that consumed me from the inside out left a piece of itself within and now I can break myself into pieces. It’s a blessing and curse at the same time, many mouths to feed with makes quick work of my prey, but my mind can barely handle it. I feel less and less like myself everyday.

Rai Sarosh

I am beginning to question my choice of allegiances. With The Agency, there was purpose to our actions. For the most part, operatives worked under rules of engagement and the harm caused was an unfortunate part of the job. Some operatives enjoyed inflicting the pain of interrogations or the act of killing, but they were usually the sort of problem that took care of themselves by losing precision. When we killed, there was some strategic purpose to it or something the target had done to warrant it. Bad men meeting bad ends, our bullets or blades bringing a close to a vicious wasted life and the threat that these men posed. Bombers, financiers, torturers. Some relation to the incivility that ran rampant in our areas of operation. This target was barely more than a child. Frightening in her… talents, but still a child. Obviously not much of a threat, she failed to injure anyone before killing herself. That was a costly bullet for me. Salvaro had mentioned earlier in the trip that he was going to need a new vassal to run the Limelight. My proposal to him earlier in the week met with delay, saying we’d discuss it over the trip. I have a sneaking suspicion that the proposal will meet with indifference at best. These creatures are beasts, inflicting pain with no regard for the kind of effect it has. Callous and cruel. I’ve been disturbed by the nature of my coterie members, and how inhuman they are becoming… it seems that the organization I’ve sworn allegiance to is providing the model for their behavior. I can’t abide this, I refuse to become so inhuman and purposeless. It looks like I may have to pursue my list of targets with little help, and as I do I’ll have to sit idly by while the my peers descend into madness.

I have found out firsthand the power of even the lowliest of our kind in large numbers. A few of the Carthian…spawns…were attempting to track me to my haven. Apparently, they like the smell of Lordly blood. They nearly managed to destroy Kat, for which I would not shed too large of a tear, but Rai and myself put the 3 of them down. We were going to interrogate one of them, when a more pressing engagement came to our attention: the death of our fellow Vassal, Steve.

Something is hunting vampires, be it ghosts, fellow Damned, or those pesky hunters. It worries me that something could be preying upon us, but I am not sorry to see Steve go. He was a vice-ridden pleasure seeker with loose morals. The kind of decadent Damned that waste their Requiem playing to mortal pleasures instead of doing the work of Longinus.

Perhaps it is time to expand our dominion. I would not mind stepping up to being a Vassal, or expanding our claimed territory. Then again, such frivolous concerns for mortal desires tends to get one destroyed in this city. I hope to see the day when this house of cards built by the arrogance of the First Estate erupts into flames of damnation and retribution.

The days at a new school are always hard. You go from being an 8th-grader, a lord among elementary students, to a lowly freshman, a little kid in a school of seemingly full-grown men and women. Until last week, that was my Requiem, but now I feel like I’ve passed a huge developmental milestone. Since my first night, I’ve had The Sight, and that’s a very useful thing, but I still felt like the psychic sheep among wolves. But now that I can move about unseen, I no longer hunt like a two-bit mugger looking for the lowest-hanging fruit. Now I slip through private places and take what’s mine. I follow people, hear their private mutterings, and witness their guilty pleasures. That’s when I like to reward them with a Kiss. The child pilfers a cookie after bedtime. The lonely man relaxes in the tub. The widow peruses dog-eared pages of campy ribaldry. The warm aftertaste of moral lust make these the most delicious moments.

Oh, and I think I may have just joined a secret society of Kindred doctors, there are swarms of mindless vampires in Dorian’s domain causing wanton destruction, and the FBI is coming down on our mortal allies. But I’m a touch intoxicated with my new-found power right now, so that may have to wait. For now, I’m going to go crawl into someone’s closet and kiss their skeleton.

Katherine Wick

Looks like my pet decided to open its big mouth about the gang activity in Hell’s kitchen in exchange for protection. I’m not surprised, its been wearing on him lately. He left a note saying he didn’t want to hurt me; I don’t know if that’s sincerity or fear talking. Either way, I didn’t do my job and the leash got a little too loose. The little fucker didn’t take into consideration the shit storm he brought down on all of us. Now I have cops and feds crawling around his sisters apartment in expectation of reprisal, and I have to find a new place to sleep. Not to mention the “police brutality” I exacted in order to find all this shit out. I’m not happy, not happy at all.
My options are to lay low, and hope that the Kitchen vice has enough or my blood in him to help me clean this up and stay hidden, or fake my own death if the feds want to come after me when the Westies start cutting deals for less jail time.

Katherine Wick

I’m remembering things I never thought were there for me to recall. I see feathers and beaks protruding from the cavity of my stomach. The priestess standing above watching makes me feel comfort in some degree. All I can hear is the soft scraping sounds of wing against wing, and that rubbery sound of flesh tearing. It’s all a haze of pain and fear at this point.

I remember being lost some four years ago, wandering around aimlessly in some shit hole swamp. The old woman is there, she lets me drink from her and I am satisfied. the blood is hot like fire. She says she is Bruja like me, but I don’t feel the beast within her.

The frenzy at my gut is getting more chaotic. I watch as two of the birds fly out of the hallow and fly onto the shoulders of the Priestess. They both pierce her head with their beaks and whisper something. She smiles.

I remember the two women in the woods. One with snakes for hair, the other covered in scorpions. When I saw them last they were asking about their sister, lost and confused. Now they are watching me from the rooftop giggling to each other like children.

Finally, as the pain reaches its crescendo. I see something crawl out from between the birds. One of them must have hit the spine because I scream before I even feel anything scuttle up my chest. She’s short and squat and partially covered in feathers. Her bare breasts hanging low laden with ruby nectar. Her eyes are lidless, her mouth agape. She cocks her head and something sharp jabs me in the chest. She drinks. Only a drop or two. It doesn’t hurt but I can’t feel anything beyond the weight on my chest.

Finally, it stops. The birds gone after their fill. I feel empty in more way then one. The fear is still there, but its washed out. I am unshackled and greeted with open arms. I am almost free.

Rai Sarosh

The dominoes are falling, and not in a way that I’d anticipated. Losing assets is part of the game, but this time there’s no one else to clean up the mess. I’m going to have to do it, and I’m dreading the idea of taking Jimmy’s life. He’s been an increasingly useful asset, and he has an almost canine sense of obedience, fascination and loyalty. Assets I’ve had to retire in the past, they were anything but these things. They often deserved what they got, they were little better than the animals they were betraying. I’m not sure where this sentimentality is coming from, but it’s impairing my operational effectiveness. I can’t help but fear that as I continue down this path I get farther and farther away from being human. From being able to even pass as human, as though I’m forgetting what it ever felt like. I don’t know what’s so damned special about it, really, I’ve seen human being commit unspeakable acts upon one another. I just can’t shake this sense of dread. Maybe it’s being stateside again, among people that I can relate to as more than just pawns to be leveraged against evil people with evil intent. Maybe it’s that I don’t feel so alien among them. There’s no away around this, not with Jimmy. If I had any faith that I could put him on a plane to Mexico and have him disappear amongst the natives, it’d be a different story. Jimmy’s slow, he’s not that resourceful, and as raptly fascinated as he is with my condition I’m sure he’d begin to seek out others. I don’t feel wholly responsible for ruining his life, as part of the Westies he’s be spending the rest of his life in prison. Evelysse, that’s an even harder decision. She’s not necessarily part of it, she may be able to escape the prosecutions since sh’e not part of the gangs. She adores me, I wish I could believe it had to do with anything more than the spell my condition puts her under and the ecstasy of the kiss. It might, but one of the horrid realities of our situation is that I’ll never know. I’ve received permission from Salvatore, it’s an option. I could hide her, or fake her death, or hope that she’s not named in any of the indictments. I can’t afford these attachments, but sometimes it seems they’re the only thing that keeps me connected to what’s left of what was human inside of me. Kat felt the same way, about her lost “property.” I can’t help but notice that the way she talked about it seemed much like a dog lamenting the loss of a subordinate mate. I suppose that’s how her kind processes things, not much of a surprise considering the clan her line’s descended from. Difficult decisions that have to be made in short order, regardless of sentimental sway.

The time I feared has finally come. We have become beset on all sides, and like a cornered animal, we are snarling back and lashing out.

The doctor, the kitten, and the spook all are seeing their assets go down in flames. One of the kitten’s toys ran off and squealed to the feds, bringing all their illegal houses of cards down around their little heads. I know the spook is speaking of turning one of his assets. I do not know the others. I find it interesting how cavalier they are about bringing another one into the fold. I don’t think they quite understand the gravity of that decision, or the consequences that will result. With more mouths to field, our hunting will become more…limited. I doubt the inconvenience to the rest of us even enters their calculations.

The spider monstrosity has come and gone, but I believe the time has arrived for action to be taken. This abomination must not be allowed to exist.

As for my own personal matter…I’ve found a den of Carthians. I was looking for them to evaluate their worthiness and goals. What I found was some insurrectionist propaganda and a den of slavery…things. Not quite turned, not quite sane. If this is their tactic, I cannot condone their lot.

My coterie is degenerating at a rapid rate. The amount of enemies are rising. London is sounding appealing.

We finally got to meet with the Fat Man. Nice enough fellow, for a guy who liquefies people’s organs and drinks them while they’re alive and aware, and replaces people’s brains with spiders. The weird part is that he’s religious. I’m guessing it’s a South American thing. I can picture a jungle-dwellers in a hut worshiping a guy like that. Of course, I can picture the same folks worshiping a wind-up cymbal-playing money. Whatever he really is, he doesn’t seem to be a threat to us unless we attack him first. And just like with the cats, a couple of my fellow Vassals jumped straight to the “let’s blow up the building” nonsense. Seems like they get their panties all bunched up every time some new critter proves that we aren’t the only murderous predator in the room. That kind of thinking is going to cause us trouble.

So, we managed to work out a pretty sweet deal. In exchange for not attempting to destroy him, we get money, invitations to his monthly gambling den, and one live human of our choice gets turned into a fleshy husk. And I get to keep it! They’re odd, these husk-bodies, but way more interesting-looking that I would have ever thought possible. It’s fascinating how the skin reacts when you remove almost all of its contents, like a grape with the pulp sucked out. I love playing with the folds of flesh, feeling the partially dissolved dermis squishing and sliding between my fingers, and feeling that cool empty skin draped against mine. I’m up to three guests now, an older Italian man like me, and the two husks. I let the full-sized corpse sit on the couch, holding a glass, while the husks lay together next to him. He stares forward, seemingly unable to bring himself to look at his couch-mates. I talk to him. I try to be reassuring, but it brings him no comfort. He just doesn’t appreciate the husks like I do.

Katherine Wick

“Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show you when you are there."
“Oh no, no,” said the Fly, "to ask me is in vain;
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again."

The spider is plump and hungry, but willing to stick to his web without troubling the wolves. Seems fair, he’s not one of us after all. If I were to get bent out of shape for every death in Hell’s kitchen, I wouldn’t get a days sleep ever.

“He’s old, and strange, but willing to change, his tastes are unrefined.
The spider eats but once a month, and won’t trouble us for the time.”

The two of hearts is ours to do with what we please as long as the recipient ends up in Mr. G’s back room. I have no problems with this, and neither does the preacher and the old man. But will they be able to live with themselves knowing that they have pulled off the fly’s wings and placed is deep within the center of the web ? I guess the church has no problem with sentencing someone to death as long as they get to play judge and jury.

Well, we have met with Mr G, and found out some various items. First, he is not a vampire. Second, his gambling den appears to be mystically transported. Third, he may be a spider spirit. Fourth, he requires his victims to be cognizant of their situation as he devours them. Fifth, the 2 of hearts is the dinner card.

Armed with such information, a deal was struck, albeit reluctantly: for 5% of his bottom line, and us choosing the 2 of hearts, Mr G can continue to operate his den of vice. I was reluctant to give him that much, but sometimes one must bend. At least now, a proper victim can be offered instead of a random event.

This weighed heavily on my soul, but I have come to terms with it. Rai and Juan, I do not know, but would wager this would take its toll on their soul. Kat and Vitale, on the other hand, have absolutely no qualms with this arrangement. This disturbs me that they are so divorced from their humanity that they would casually stoop to this level; however, what disturbs me even more is their willingness to have another predator camp and feed in the territory. The lion does not suffer the tiger to exist in his domain. Either this territory is ours, and our rules are inviolate, or it is not. Alas, they are young. Give them another 20 years, and they will learn.

If I still cared over much about such earthly matters, I would place this domain under my thumb and run it proper as a Lord of the First Estate. Sometimes the thought crosses my mind, but I am reminded daily by looking at Kat and Vitale what the price on my soul would be. No thank you.

It seems that a lot of the Operatives in town that had kept their ambitions private before tonight showed their hands. The Lancea Sanctum’s leadership has changed, and the linchpin that gave way was one of the Family’s own. I’ve seen many a smooth operator compromise themselves when they got a little too nervous, but I think Monica just signed off on her own death warrant. Rumor has it that the Family takes their time with traitors and that they ship them home for the long kiss goodnight. It seems that Dorian showed more ambition than he had pull, and the rest of my team is getting nervous about what his next move might be. There have even been proposals to uproot, to head towards a weaker Regent’s territory. Giving up the assets I’ve managed to acquire in favor of a fresh start in what’s sure to be a hot zone isn’t my idea of a fair trade. We’ve had a chance to check out each of Dorian’s vassals and I’m confident that if we go to war with them we can win. We just have to make sure that once the first punch is thrown we move surgically to divide and eliminate his Operatives. It will be tricky, but I’ve already started assessing scenarios that will give us the tactical advantage. That is, assuming that we aren’t swept away in a single well-planned advance.

Katherine Wick

I hear whispers of back room deals between the coterie. Two for the church, two for the Tower. All four riding the waves left behind by the political shit storm that blew through town a few nights ago. I honestly don’t think the Doctor cares, he’s shown to be a man of some principle. He’d rather deal with the real problems this city faces rather than vie for attention. I feel like I can trust him to at least keep a secret and to be ambivalent if necessary. The Preacher seems…calmer. I don’t know if I like it, a dog gets calmer right before it goes rabid. The Old Man is still sucking his thumb around his sire. I hear his daddy is the new bishop, I’m sure he had nothing to do with it.
The soldier is making a move for position within the first estate, though with all the chaos I doubt he’ll find a station beyond the one he’s got now. No one wants to pay more for less when they have grunts by the dozen throughout the Invictus.

The circle has welcomed me into their arms, I doubt this is good for my standing in the city, but I don’t give a shit. They have what I need right now, and that’s a means to keep me from listlessness. I hope the old hag shows me some sort of path to take, I’m fed up with the cities flaccid little games. I’ll drink the cool-aid for the moment, its thick, red, and salty enough to keep me excited for the time being. I will say this about the acolytes too, they certainly know how to throw a party.

Apparently Dorian doesn’t know much about the Family. But after tonight, maybe I don’t either.

At the most formal “informal meeting” I’ve ever attended, Dorian presumed to enlist my support in taking Vincenzo’s domain for himself. He’d previously told me he was planning on moving from Lower Manhattan, handing his Regency to me. That’s a lot of power for someone of my age and status, and very tempting. But I won’t be party to attacks on fellow Sangiovanni, even with the Regency of Lower Manhattan dangled before me. I tried to play my hand as well as possible, attempting to deflect Dorian’s incursion away from Family domain, while dealing as little damage to my relationship with Dorian as possible.

I’m pleased that I was able to have a voice in the meeting, and that I’ve so far managed to help repel this attack on the Family’s holdings. This is exactly why I thought we should have someone in the Invictus, and it leads me to think we should move toward keeping a foot in each of the Covenants’ doors.

The Family sticks together. This is what we do. You attack one of us and you face all of us, right? Well, apparently that’s not how Monica sees it. At a Lance meeting across town, she cast her lot in with the non-family coup against Vincenzo, which cost him his bishop’s hat. Thanks in part to Monica, we no longer control the Lance. Add let’s not forget that she seems to have freed the Lance-traitor, Pope. She’s fast on her way to finding herself staked in a Venice-bound shipping crate. Depending on how we decide to deal with Monica, we might just have an open Regency for Dorian after all.

Tonight might be viewed as the night that the Spear and Chapel were reborn. After endless nights of pushing, Edmund finally organized a coup against the decrepit core of Sangiovanni that were dragging down the Lance. I find it humorous that Edmund thought I had no ambition, where he would have languished with the Sangiovanni Bishop until I pushed him. Ironic.

The evening with the Sangiovanni went better than anticipated. Our corp of non-Sangiovanni Kindred met with the Bishop and his extended family. Simon Enfield cut a deal with Edmund to be the forerunner, but after rounds of negotiation, both Simon and Vincenzio were beaten…and then treachery struck. Monica Sangiovanni turned on her family, striking at the Bishop and calling attention to his failings regarding Raphael Pope. It was that event that allowed Edmund to swoop in and claim the mantle. After the main item on the agenda was accomplished, the secondary goal of dealing with Raphael Pope was decided: both faction want him dead. Permanently this time. It is the Templar’s personal crusade.

The First Estate seemed to be more out of sorts than the Second Estate. It was flirting with wanton abuse of power, striping loyal subjects of their holdings out of misplaced fear…driven by greed. Dorian Masters has shown his true face. For all his power, he is weak. Unworthy of being a true regent. His land and domain gets blighted, and he attempts to run and hide and obtain a new domain…where his sins would follow. I had high regard for Dorian. I do not have it any longer.

Amongst the coterie, some things have changed. Juan seems more lucid…which terrifies me. Germany was passive until it unleashed hell not once but twice upon the world. I fear Juan’s moment of calm may just be a taste of peace before the pain. Vitale has shown family loyalty to the extreme…making him a liability. We now know how far he can be trusted, and sadly, it is not very far. I fear the depths he will plunge to attempt to “avenge” his family. Kat is, well, Kat. She’s being more mysterious than normal, not making any overt threats of castration, disembowelment, or chest thumping. She may be up to something, but as long as it does not involve me, I care not. If what she is doing brings her peace, so be it. Rai, on the other hand, seems to acknowledge the benefit of the long-standing relationship between Succubi and Lord. I am far his elder, but strangely, neither of us care to lead. I am content to remain in the spiritual realm and focus on keeping the Spear and Chapel in NYC, the city of godless pagans and sodomists. Rai seems intent on making a name for himself as a fixer and breaker, not policy maker. Together, we just might go far.

Recent experiences are forcing me to reexamine the Operators within my unit. I’m noting greater instability in the Haunt, in some of the most compromising situations. The rest of the unit has been able to observe the behaviors. Their conclusion is the same as my own – it’s persistent, it’s escalating and it’s dangerous. I’ll observe him carefully in the coming nights and determine whether or not he can be made operationally effective. The Beast seems to be losing ground in her own fight for sanity. Her behavior seems less controlled, more aggressive, more instinctual. It’s something difficult to put into words – there was a particular moment in which I saw it, and that moment’s lingering. The good Doctor seems to have hit a plateau. How close to rock bottom that plateau is I can’t tell. The only Operator I’m unconcerned about presently is the Lord. While distant, it seems convincingly human. I’m forced to question what kind of effect extended constant contact will have on me. Can’t have this turning out like Bagram.

Katherine Wick

New York is full of all types, addicts, victims, fanatics, sycophants, beasts, and monarchs. Each have their own little special place. Some float down the gutters into irrelevance while others rise to the top to lord over the others from their dark towers. The first estate, with all its gleaming, choses to write edicts, but cares nothing for what actually stirs beneath the floor boards of their great house. The second estate on the other hand, pretends to care while all the time seeming to overlook the obvious creaking in the floor boards. The spear has some explaining to do and I’m sure that the brass upstairs won’t be happy to hear that one of their very own tried to destroy the Gomorrah they claimed Manhattan island has turned into. Again, we are faced with a dying crop, the doctor says that most of the infected have about six months before the end and if the virus keeps spreading unchecked, we are going to be nose deep in rotten fruit.
At least we have the satisfaction of seeing the blood spilled from the plague-dogs that have been troubling our city, but I’m afraid the damage is done. If not too our stock, more so to the ones we love. I never thought of loss in almost six years now. I was forced to turn my back on my mortal life, but some of us encompass ourselves with it to anchor our memory in what we once were. Dorian Masters will have to face what I will probably never have to know, and thats the loss of several of his closest. With only six months, he has decisions to make and realities to face in the upcoming days. I can only assume that the humane thing to do would be to ghoul or turn his herd, but with such numbers, it would be difficult.
There is sickness all around, even some of our own are spiraling down into chaos, with the preacher showing more and more signs of madness he may be a liability too. With the last little outburst I see now that if things get worse, I may have to face the same realities as Dorian; stop the spread of a disease that may eventually effect us all.

When Alphonse embraced me and explained the basics of this new world, I was certain that I had descended into a very clever and insidious corner of Hell. My sins ruined what should have been a wonderful life, helping people live happier and longer lives, while earning a lifestyle worth sharing with as many beautiful children as God would grant me. If only a comfortable lifestyle were all I shared with the children in my care. But then that first victim came forward, I lost my licence and my family—well—my wife and kids anyway. Then I lost my freedom. Then the other inmates found out why I was there, and I was only able to prolong the inevitable for so long. I felt the first few stabs before I went into psychological shock.

If there is any medical proof for God’s mercy at work in our world, it is the ways the brain anesthetizes his children from extreme stress. My victims forgot much of what I did to them, and in my final moments I was spared the pain of my final cuts. And then I passed on to a new and more horrifying prison, a world of Damned, playing cruel and horrid games while we watch gleefully as our world crumbles, our hapless victims spared the terrible truth.

But, and maybe this is the genius of it all, Damnation isn’t so bad so far. Actually, things are going really exceptionally well. I’m an immortal doctor in a land of disease that needs treating: a pig in shit. And it’s a really scary disease too, let me tell you; 100% mortality rate, unknown vectors, the best doctors in the world scratching their heads! It really couldn’t be worse, and more and more, the Damned are realizing that they need my skills. Already I’m racking up so much political capital by meeting the needs of the rightfully frightened Damned, that I need to be careful not to get carried away. Once this all dies down, I could be the weak kid who somehow wound up with fistfuls of lunch money, and this time there will be no psychological shock to save me; I’m far from God’s mercy.

I know this thing’s all going to end badly. But as long as I’ve got an eternity of tooth-gnashing and wailing ahead of me, I might as well make the most of this blink of an eye. I just need to make sure I don’t do anything to bring that whole tooth-gnashing part crashing down any sooner. And oh, the many ways that could happen! I’ve seen how quickly and silently a Strix kills as many as it likes. I’ve seen what happens when two more powerful versions of me get between Dorian Masters and his food. And I can only imagine the bedlam if 4H takes a big chunk out of the kine. But I’ve gotta say, it’s pretty thrilling to walk hand in hand with the reaper, and it pays well.

Started to leverage the Organization and Family angles. The family has been beneficial, a few pieces of information have found their way to me that could be beneficial in the effort to improve standing in the city. One such piece allowed the Unit to propagate information about cleansing our kind of diseases to protect the civilians. Pursuing the piece of information led us to a Director-level Operator. This Operator was experiencing problems with finding sustenance. In the course of a few nights, the Unit was able to confirm that he had good reason to be concerned. We screened every Operator within the Director’s AoR and identified a number of infections, many serious. Over the course of this operation the Doctor also identified evidence of food tampering on part of an unknown agent. We suspect the agent to be another Operator, one with a vested interest in crippling the capabilities of the Director. There is the potential that this agent is a member of the direct competition of my own Organization. Of potentially related interest, our domain was violated by an especially obese Operator. His method of feeding is conspicuous, vicious and left us with a particularly disturbing mess to clean up. He, or a fellow Operator, also possesses a unique talent that clears an area of all trace, even those that the Doctor could pick up on. I have continued to expand my power with the Ricans and with other elements of the illicit sort.

Katherine Wick

The gutters will run red soon and the worms down below will gorge themselves with the run off. Someone has shit right on a regent’s plate and he’s sworn murder on whoever has done it. Within a days time someone or something has infected Dorian Masters’ entire herd with the 4H virus. This smells like the first volley of an all out war from the looks of it. The other vassals and I think this may be the work of a Carthian cell bent on destabilizing the Invictus by cutting off their food supply. Whatever it is, its not right and I hope the fuckers get the stake for it. We’ve worked out a deal to purge the virus from Masters and his subordinates but if this is spreading by someone’s forceful hand then none of us should consider ourselves safe.

More weird shit is afoot; a recent body dump has risen questions about some of the local scum working in the Kitchen. A young girl, early twenties, drained of all bodily fluids by a certain Mr. G who runs a local gambling den frequented by the westies. Our decree which forbid other kindred to hunt within our domain means that corpulent asshole and I have some words to share. Too bad the next gambling night is in a month and we’ve got no leads on where he moves to on the off nights when Hell’s Kitchen is not on his list. I’ve never seen a vampire feed like this, since when do we need more than just blood? Even the acolyte witch doesn’t seem to have any answers, all she was able to dig up was that this has been happening for at least three years now.

I’m pleased to report that my 4H test and removal procedure is catching on among the Damned. The Regent over the neighborhoods with the highest-risk Kine has enlisted my services to test him, his herd, and all of his Vassals. This is a great step toward mitigating the danger of what could very well grow into a horrid plague of biblical proportions. While the virus itself is harmless to us, our Kiss serves as one of its unknown number of vectors, and its mortality rate in humans approaches 100%. Most victims die within six months. I have no evidence to support this theory, by my instinct suggests we may eventually find a supernatural origin for this disease, especially given that it tends to target victims of low moral fiber.

As an added bonus, having just used Cattiveria on every known Damned in Dorian’s Regency, I now also know their real names and embrace dates. It tickles me how pretentious some of us are. Dorian Masters, really? Who’d be haughty enough to call himself that? Ryan Dobbs, as it turns out. The one that really gets under my skin is “Rabies”. Gag me! I guess “Tony McGowan” just didn’t sound hard-core enough for him. Maybe I should make up some super excellent comic book name for myself, like Dr. Swiftblade. Ha!

But it does occur to me as I gather all of this personal information, that I need to be more careful about with whom I share these tidbits. If the other Vassals know what information Cattiveria is telling me about them when I do my “4H test”, they might feel threatened by what I’ve learned about them. Eventually, I’ll be able to disappear and read people’s minds. I’ll know Haven locations, what people do when they think they’re alone, and any other skeletons they’ve got stuffed away. We Shadows can’t help but know a lot of dangerous information. And I need to think more about which of my own secrets I’m casually handing out. I joke about changing my name, but now that I think of it, there is a certain value in not using the name of a guy who looks exactly like me, who recently died in prison. Especially when he’s survived by a mortal mother, ex-wife, daughter, and son. At least the wife and kids are now using mom’s maiden name, so that helps a little. Oh well; too late now. Maybe if I take an extended nap or relocate.

Now we know what killed the previous Vassals, and given what it was, we will likely never know what prompted it to kill them, and we’re largely helpless if it decides to come for us. So, we’re little more secure than had we just shrugged our shoulders and said “whatever, free turf is free turf.”

Our mysterious killer turns out to be a Strix, some ancient vampire-like entity whose bloodline dates back to Rome, and the reason Rome eventually had no Damned, and many ashes. It seems to have little need for a physical form, but is thought to manifest as an owl when it’s not possessing Damned, Drinkers or Kine. The one useful fact we learned is that the victim’s eyes take on the appearance of owl eyes while possessed, so that’s something to look for. But how useful is it for a field mouse to know be able to identify an owl? Once it sees one, it’s far too late. Yet another reason I need to learn how to disappear.

On the optimistic side, the investigation was an opportunity for me to showcase my talents and prove my usefulness to my fellow Vassals. Not that I have much of a reason not to trust them, but we are what we are. As it stands, I don’t bring much to a fight. They are four more very good reasons I need to shift my focus away from the Hidden Arts and toward actual hiding.

But all things considered, we’re in a pretty good situation. We Vassals get along well enough, and we’ve proven our ability to overcome challenges as a group. We’ve had some minor incidents of toe-stepping with out private activities, but nothing we couldn’t talk through and resolve peaceably. So, as long as the Strix doesn’t decide to ash us all, we should have a prosperous future.

There is more activity going on within our operational area than my initial assessment indicated. We have been following leads on the elimination of the previous Operators within our OA. Current indications are inconclusive. There is the potential that the target of the investigation is an Operator with abilities uncommon to our kind. There is also the disturbing possibility that it is not. Operating during the day, through multiple vessels and despite the destruction of a number of these vessels, is a point of concern. We are seeking additional information in regard to the abilities and historical references. The doctor was able to find one or two mentions of precedents, potentially related, at two points in history. An emerging threat that the rest of the Unit is underestimating, except D, is a pack of highly intelligent enhanced cats. These entities, functioning collectively, are as great a threat as any moderately experienced Operator. I am preparing to deal with this threat, though I’ll have to enlist the help of D and potentially additional resources.

I made contact with the Puerto Ricans. The night spent observing from a distance combined with the timing paid off. I engaged in conversation with a number of patrons and, by the third night, gang members. The familiarity of the patrons I’d spoken to on the first and second nights combined with social camouflage (clothes, jewelry, restyled hair) bought me conversation with at least one unsuspecting lieutenant. Additional nights spent at their base of operations have allowed me to differentiate at least six organizations that are currently collaborating against the Westies. I also discovered that O had a hand in escalating the violence between the two factions. He has become part of the narrative of the increasingly volatile situation. This is a liability, specifics of his appearance have been relayed in more than one retelling. He lacks the abilities of concealment that so many of his kind possess. If it weren’t for his distinct appearance, he could easily be mistaken for any number of the rambling indigents here. After the better part of a week spent observing and interacting with the Puerto Ricans I identified an ideal asset, considering the constant and unpredictable competition going on between the six organizations. While Hernando is currently the effective alpha in their operation, Ricardo is behaving increasingly like Addullah al-Mohaddeh. A repeat of the Temmiz scenario will destabilize the entire situation. Evalisse is a more stable, controllable asset. She’s already proven useful, and she’s more than willing to cater to my needs. A carefully timed exchange between Kat and I saved the restaurant from being burned to the ground. The Westies were arrested, Kat escaped, and my assets were preserved. The best possible solution. Kat is proving to be a more manageable Operator than I’d initially calculated.

The Unit has uncovered a number of important pieces of information regarding the investigation. The doctor’s talent for perceptive touch is proving very useful in the search for information. Previous incidents resulted in the destruction of large amounts of Operators under specific circumstances. In one case, an entire extended family was eradicated. In another, all Operators in London were destroyed. Both of these events happened in a very limited timeframe,the historical records noting a matter of days. Some of this information was acquired from an Operator in a nearby territory, to whom we now owe a favor. Other information was gleaned from the doctor and his connections. I am less concerned about the Unit now that the records indicate that, in all likelihood, the incident has come to a close. I am continuing to seek information but this has become a secondary objective. I will debrief the Regent and maintain a passive watch for additional data. Of greater immediate importance is the increased tensions among the native criminal elements. The Irish and the Puerto Ricans are escalating quickly. I observed the Puerto Ricans for a number of nights, starting with a full night of distance observation. Tomorrow night I start my active observation and initiate contact.

I am born anew and I shall bathe in the blood of those who have transgressed against me. I have freed myself from the doubts and anguish and worry – I shall fulfill my path. I was unfortunately a bit sloppy and I may have to go into hiding for some time.

I feel that I am slipping towards further damnation. My crime is to great for the community to ignore and I may have to run. I do not know if I shall make Vincent my own or ask another but I must do at least one thing of worth with this eternity before I become little better than a hunted animal.

There will be blood and the wicked shall meet their judgement at my hands.

My servant has done well and I shall reward him for his work. I know where the BLASPHEMER lies, and his sins will be the first that I eat.

I believe I edge ever closer to the precipice of this cliff. Seeing and conversing with myself in that hallway over the smoking exploded brains of a frightened old man; I think I might be crazy as the rest of them believe me to be. If I am, then may God help them all.

The old man shot me. Thankkfully that doesn’t matter much these days; he did pay a terrible price for shooting a messenger of Longinius, for even our kind don’t recover well from having no blood and then being shot directly in the skull. The whore, the infidel, and the good doctor all seem to be under some stress as the whore’s pawn decided to become a queen and created a neighborhood that will be harder for all of us to feed in. Additionally, they assaulted some of the local enforcement, which is never good.

I have asked my kinsman for permission to create a damned helper for myself. I sense that very soon I may start on a path from which I cannot return, and I may need someone to carry on my work after me.

Sending people to their deaths to feed this thing once a month seems wrong somehow. Longinius’ only comments about working with those outside our condition really don’t seem to indicate that this relationship is a positive thing. I feel as if I have lost some part of myself here.

We allow this thing for no particularly good reason beyond not understanding or knowing how to bring it down and remove it permanently from our territory. This rankles the Old Man, but the infidel, whore, and hypocrite seem fine with it. I have accepted it because I do not think we can defeat it, and we were given the right to determine the food for this blighted spirit. I feel as if I have sinned nonetheless and must do some penance for this deed.

God is unhappy with my acceptance of this – it detracts me from my course. Tracking the sacriligeous of the Damned and sending them on is my task and it is this I must devote my energy to. The humane parts of myself must be stripped away like layers, and I must become the Angel of Destruction I am meant to be.

Deciding the fate of a faith’s direction in a board meeting where a part of the congregation simply attack and deride each other seems less than Godly and all too human. Yet I was there, played my role, and did what seemed necessary. I do believe that God will certainly approve of our choice as the whole family of hypocrites was removed from power.

What a colossal waste of time and energy. Political bickering resulting in nothing, and a few old vampires lose some face. Whoo hoo. I have things to do, plans to follow. By now, my fellow vassals have noted that I am far more composed than I have been in the past, less forceful in trying to convert others to faith. My path no longer lies that way.

I have been successful in removing a small sin from the world. It was not in the way that I would prefer, but the stain removed nonetheless. The next one I will try for a more personal approach, for the mortals are adequate for picking off a straggler here and there but may not have the means for more robust foes.

I am spiraling in a new way. Contacting food and setting it upon the hunter like a pack of dogs turned against their master. Setting a mortal on the path to damnation, though to be fair he was well on his way without me. I hope that this is truly what the Lord wants and expects from me.

The Virgin smiles at me, no longer talking. I can only hope that she approves of my new helper and the work that I have begun.

The dreams continue to haunt me, to eat at my rest. In them I do not just drink the blood, but eat the flesh of the ones I have set myself against. They are too blasphemous to be coming from God, they must surely be tempting wickedness from the Devil. Perhaps I will need to fast some more, and ask God what he wills.

I am beginning to see things that I believe to be from God, but they could be from Satan, the Strix, or from the confines of an extremely unwell mind, which is the opinion of my fellow vassals. I do not know what to do now, for the Virgin spoke and sent a message, and then I saw some creature that resembled the whore of Babylon more than an angelic messenger, telling me that I had been chosen to cleanse the vampire population of its sinners, much as Longinius was to do for the mortals. I am conflicted as this does not seem like something that God would condone.

Kill the sinners amongst us. That could take years, the rest of eternity. Steve, Damian, the whore, the hypocrite, all those poncy Invictus, the devil worshipping Crone…this is all beyond my abilities at this point. I may need to make a trip to Harlem via the Subway.

Kill them, kill every last sinner among them and eat their souls and sins. I have no hope of redemption, but I may perhaps be able to assuage the sins of others and give them the chance I am denied.

Perhaps they are right, perhaps I am afflicted. I have always felt so different, but this may not be because God has chosen me as his champion, but because some madness has carried with me into my unlife. I know I saw a roomful of people whom I know and trust withihn reason turn into a horde of demons coming for my soul. While I was certainly sympathetic to the desire to clean Damian’s area of the homos, I cannot be party to such wholesale destruction of everyone. I do not think the doctor is the kind I need, but where do the undead find a couch to lie upon?

This belief that I am somehow mad that is clearly gaining strength amongst my ‘friends’ is something I cannot understand. God speaks to my damned soul, and I must carry out his work.

I shall be the Lord’s vengeance upon those who have strayed, given into wickedness and temptation, allowed whores and harlots and charlatans to make their way through this city. I will cleanse them all. Ezekiel 25:17 “The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.”

I have begun my campaign to bring others to the teachings of Longinius and learned to respect those whose faith may differ but are not as godless as those like Stephen. The Baroness knows of God and at least in the brief interactions I have had with her, seems to truly be a devout woman. The salon was an opportunity to put the teachings out there, to let the others know that there is a reason for their damnation. An Invictus salon is not likely to win me any converts, but at least I am there doing what needs done.

Salon was useless and dull, a waste of energy. These sinners know nothing of Longinius and wish to hear even less. They are too busyily caught up in their trappings of wealth and power to truly understand their damnation. They are those who shall remain chained when the end times finally come; food for the owls.

They will all suffer

4H spreads, and those Damned to the south of us, who feed from the homosexual filth, have infected themselves and seek succor. Perhaps the threat of contaminating themselves and an even larger number of people will check their reckless feeding habits, or even inspire them to drive the thrice damned homosexuals from their turf. It seems that even the mighty are not immune, for the Regent has contracted it as well. More alarming is that somone appears to have intentionally infected his herd, and by extension himself, with it in a matter of days. It appears that there will be conflict, but who is the enemy here?

Fucking idiots, feeding from the God damned faggots have given themselves 4H. It seems just retribution from God for their sins. Were it not for the rather sizeable boons that my fellow vassals will gain, I’d say let them rot in the hell they have made. There is an even larger shitting mess now, though. Someone has declared war on the regent of the turf and in the course of days, inflicted his sick fuck herd with 4h, which means he also has it now. He was clean just a few days ago. There is a storm brewing, maybe a war and this appears to be the opening shot. I hope that me and mine can keep our heads down and dodge the fangs.

The Seven appear to have found me and put me on the list for extinction, yet the Hypocrite tells me he could pick up no sign that anyone had been in or near my haven, nor that any doom had been writ upon my walls. I suppose it’s entirely possible that he is one of them, in on the plan, or just a dupe for something like the Owls. I shall be more cautious and relocate myself somewhere safer. It is time to move, for even if he is not in league against me, I will not have one such as him knowing where I dwell.

I am finding it difficult to accept this new fellowship of which I am now a member. They appear to be devout, but their devotion is no longer to the Lord or Christ, but to Longinius, who supposedly thrust the spear into Christ’s side at Golgatha and was damned forever. To give up the beliefs that are such a part of who I am is … troubling.

And so I can leave what I was behind and assume this new life, where it is my duty to turn mortals towards the path of the Lord with no hope of personal salvation. What the fuck? Should I truly be damned? For what end? Who did this to me? Where should I place the blame for this change that has forever left me unclean and unholy regardless of whatever penance I might do. I am no better than some demon, except I am not to tempt the mortals from righteousness, but rather frighten them back towards it.

The Lord has turned forever from me, and I am truly Damned. My only duty is to make sure that the mortals remember God and to keep him holy. I am unsure if I can accept this belief. Or am I simply being too proud to think that the Lord may have tasked me with this much as Jonah was tasked with preaching to the heathens so long ago. Will I follow his example or accept what I am and do what I have been given to do?

It is a slow transition to a state of mind that turns everything I believe sort of sideways and puts me not as Job, as I had seen myself, but as the devil who is to test his faith. I was too fucking proud I suppose to believe that I truly was damned for whatever reason I was chosen for this embrace into perpetual sin.

As a last act of penance, I have arranged with Dominic to create a shelter for the runaway youth who everyday flock to this hell to become writers or actors or whatever proud dreams draw them to this pit of iniquity. Few if any make these dreams come true, instead becoming the strippers, prostitutes, pimps, drug dealers, thieves, and all the other sinners collected here. Maybe I can start here and return them to the Lord.

Dominic suggested that I should turn this small bit of hope into a diner. I initially thought he could go fuck himself, but if I am to become what the Lord has ordained, then I am going to have to feed from mortals and not feel regret or anxiety or guilt. Longinius does at least hold to what I had already decided for myself, that the truly innocent should not be consumed from and that I would know if they were in fact innocent by the inability to do so. Simple really.

The Lord saw the evil that took place here before our arrival, and punished the previous Vassals by sending the Owls after them. Longinius speaks of this too, that in the last days, the Owls would come to judge us. Some will be consumed, some will offer themselves to the owl, some will continue their work in hell, and then there are the ones who appear to be saved…So there is some hope after all of redemption.

Interesting that the hypocrite and the old man were not able to relate the last bit of Longinius’ writing to what had occurred here with the Owl. I certainly had no knowledge of it before then, but now I can see that that was God’s judgement on those here, and it would seem they willingly gave themselves to it.

And so it is that I have begun to formulate a list of heretics and sinners amongst our own who must see the light, even if it means sending them on to judgement. The whore witch, that blasphemer – Steven. It is a small place to begin.

Where shall I begin with passing the Word to other’s? Elysium perhaps? I expect that may eventually lead to trouble, but it is a manner in which I am used to preaching. Shall I adjust to something smaller and less presumptuous? I think I shall perhaps begin simply with passing out some small pamphlets, not unlike those I handed out prior to becoming damned.

I do not know what to make of these dreams. To be sure, the act of punishing the whore and the hypocrite seems fine, but I have made my bed with these for now, and I lack the strength to take them to task for their misdeeds. The whore tests me, pushes my buttons, tries to egg me into something. The hypocrite is useful for now. The heathen I do not yet know well enough to consider, and perhaps as long as he thinks I am as mad as the proverbial hatter, he will not consider me either.

I have taken a page from memories of the war on TV. The trap is springs, broken glass, and bits of metal. It should at the very least protect me a little, should anyone find me down here. The presence of the law here last week made me more than a bit nervous.

Katherine Wick

I mistreat my toys. I play with them, dress them up, bend them at the joints, then ultimately break them when I’m bored. I’m getting tired of my tea parties with the mortals, they haven’t done anything for me worth remembering. Other than the occasional moments of fury they can get worked into we have stopped having much in common. Rico is my only tie to them at the moment, what’s good for him is ultimately good for me, so if I don’t maintain and cultivate, my little pumpkin patch with whither and die without budding. My last reprisal for assaulting my ghoul had missed it’s point, the Irish don’t even know why they got punished. My options are to either reveal myself and risk alienation or worse, or have them fear me and obey. I would be happy with the latter, but again I get tired of my toys so quickly.

I notice some of the same words coming out of my mouth that I heard from my sire many years ago. He was a foul heartless beast and I fear I’m quickly turning into what I loathed so much. I have some soul searching to do during this relative peace in Hell’s Kitchen, I hope that I have enough time to figure something out. If the stories of the strix are true then I may need to think of my own skin rather than my emotional state at the moment.

Katherine Wick

I feel different, hungrier, more powerful. I don’t know when it happened but something has changed, inside of me my blood covered self smiles and stretches it’s long sinewy body. I can’t help but think that what I did to the McDunnogh Brothers was a bit overboard and that’s what put me over the edge, made me more like my sire, a bit more monstrous.

The McDunnogh Brothers deserved every inch of my wrath, pun intended. There’s always a line someone shouldn’t cross and they did. An eye for an eye, it makes sense in that horribly cliché biblical kind of way. At least we know Donnie will never try to rape anyone ever again.

Katherine Wick

The others wonder whether I’m scared, I am. They don’t believe we’re dealing with the Unholy, but it seems all too likely. I don’t know her ways, but from what I’ve seen, they are more than fearsome. Maybe this is a portend of her arrival, either way I don’t want to be around to see it, it never ends well.

The other vassals have been offed, each in their own morbid way. The most recent, O’Brien who was forced to ram a stake through his chest, or Rose, the centuries old beast who possibly met an end at the claws of her ghoul cats or the body snatcher himself.

The beast’s ghoul horde was left to endure without their master, each bound to her blood and left to rot. If Rose didn’t give herself up to Jeremy (the remaining vassal who personally killed O’Brien) their end would have at least been fast.

They’re a tenacious bunch, they’ve managed to survive, by luring stupid neonates into the manor to be harvested for vitae to keep them strong and alive. I respect them, but they need to know their place. At the moment, all they are is a liability.

The coterie has agreed that they can be useful, if I can control the alpha, I can control the horde. They’ve seen what we’re up against, the terrible birds, the ones in my dreams, and in my past. The black birds with hollow beaks, the unholy ones.